


growing, growing (drowning, too)

by gabriphales



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Boss/Employee Relationship, Childhood Trauma, Friends With Benefits, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Multi, Past Rape/Non-con, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:41:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24641029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabriphales/pseuds/gabriphales
Summary: aziraphale tries to deal with his trauma in unhealthy ways. basically snippets of his sex life still coping with the aftermath of abuse
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 43





	growing, growing (drowning, too)

**Author's Note:**

> mind the tags

"you're certain of this, then?"

aziraphale barely recognizes the harshened voice as belonging to his boss. the cool, slick fingers toying at his entrance easing him into it, working him up to the grand reveal. his body doesn't feel sick just yet. he's hoping it won't for the rest of the evening. he's hoping it won't _at all._

"yes. i'm sure." aziraphale says. he tightens his grip on the opposite end of the desk, and mourns where the floorboards will inevitably be scratched raw from the back and forth motion. their coupling isn't meant for office hours, that's for sure. but it's happening there anyways. and aziraphale's unsure of how to feel about it.

"alright. take deep, even breaths. i'll go slowly. tell me if anything's wrong." gabriel instructs, stroking his free hand down aziraphale's shuddering back. aziraphale nods for him, a brief proclamation of acceptance. the assurance that, yes, he understands, he wants what's about to happen. that's all it takes for gabriel to dive in, jamming his fingers in succinct order. it's really quite gentle, aziraphale has to admit. he curls with his fingers more than he thrusts, feeling him up from the inside out. but his body still burns with it. his body's still left with a residual throbbing, the pain of a phantom hand that isn't there anymore. 

he trembles, shakes his head slightly. this isn't about them. this isn't about _that._ he's here to enjoy himself. isn't he owed some pleasure? after all he's been through. surely god would be merciful enough to grant him such comfort.

(she turned her cheek to his suffering, after all. he deserves an apology. make good on your own sin, and purify heaven once more, dear holy mother.)

"does that feel okay?" gabriel asks him. he's still shifting inside, rutting his fingers carefully now. and aziraphale - aziraphale finds he can truthfully whimper _yes_ in reply. gabriel rakes over his g-spot, perhaps it's only incidental, but it makes aziraphale squirm and shiver anyways. his throat tightens on a squeal when gabriel fits in a third finger beside the first two. his cunt clasping in model form around him, locking down as if trying to store what a proper touch feels like. what hands that don't want to hurt do to bodies that aren't hurting. 

(he doesn't bother with mentioning that this is the first time he hasn't been hurting _somewhere_ in so very long. he'd stopped counting the days between flare ups. months have passed by without a quiet day. at least he's quiet like this. at least he's quiet.)

"can i fuck you?" gabriel crumbles his composure, breaking at the edges. there's a taste of salt and sweat in his voice, purely desperate, and something about that makes aziraphale bubble with pride. to know that he's worthy of wanting, even with this body he feels has outgrown him. he nods without thinking, damned be the consequences. he wants this, he _wants this,_ and he's in control now. anything he wants, he'll receive.

that all changes course the second gabriel plants his cock inside him. thick, undeniably imposing, it stretches aziraphale like a speared animal. he feels like a bit of a porky creature laid upon the spit roast, set out for open flame, and it's too much, too heavy, all crashing down at once. gabriel's hips slam against his backside; they make his body shake with each iteration of a new thrust. his cunt is swollen and hot, still aroused, against his own will, and he wants to double over with shame at that. at how he can hardly even manage to contain his need when it's tearing him open, splitting him apart.

he doesn't dare bother with noting how some part of him - some horrible, tormented part - wants gabriel to keep going even as he cries out for it to stop. how can he admit that being held, comforted, reassured that nothing more will happen, not without his full consent, is a _disappointment?_

how can he still want it to happen again?

\- 

their next encounter goes better, to say the least.

gabriel has aziraphale over his desk once more. on his back this time, with gabriel mumbling something about how being able to see his face might keep him more in touch with the present. aziraphale isn't really listening. his head's too busy formulating a bridge between the disconnect of how he's gone from lovable, fussy old secretary, to gabriel's personal fucktoy. and he knows - he _knows_ better than to think of himself like that. but it feels so right to be useful, it feels so right to be used. it's where a part of him still belongs, lingering in the past.

all he's ever been good at is getting fucked. 

gabriel lines himself up, spreading the chubby folds of his labia, and something about the intimacy of being _seen_ down there reawakens delight in aziraphale. it shows interest, caution, care. he wants to be cared for. and this is the only kind of care he knows. 

"you're doing so good," gabriel whispers, pushing in with a gentle force. he takes it slowly this time, letting aziraphale feel the pressure of every additional inch. and it's so - so _full,_ but not in a bad way. he almost wants to strain down, seek out more of gabriel before he's finished coming to a hilt. "you take me so well. take it all so well."

"you're big," aziraphale admits, "but that doesn't mean it hurts!" he quickly assures.

and gabriel, bless his heart, he takes it all in stride. chuckling deep and low in his chest, warm enough that aziraphale swears he can feel the heat coming from sound alone. he cups aziraphale's face, leans down to press their mouths together - a boundary left previously unbreached - and smiles. aziraphale can feel it against his lips. it makes him smile too.

he's never had fun sex before, but he has it that night. with gabriel's office door locked, the window blinds drawn shut, and everything right in the seemingly perfect world. gabriel laughs with him, gabriel kisses him so sweetly he could die, like learning love anew for the first time. he kisses him again and again and again, until it becomes less about fucking, and more about gyrating against one another. caught in something beyond worldly description. all hazy and golden, like street lights blurring in the distance.

aziraphale doesn't say it, but he thinks he might fall in love with him, if he isn't careful. even worse, he isn't sure if that's such a bad thing.

-

it isn't cheating, he tells himself, if there's no relationship to stray from in the first place. gabriel and he aren't anything official. rather - gabriel's _refusing_ to even address the possibility of being official. he keeps dodging aziraphale's questions. dancing around the tension with spindly, light feet. and it's _irritating._ aziraphale's irritated with him. so he has every right to sleep around if he so pleases.

that's how he bites down his guilt once he finds himself in the back of someone else's car. a fancy, vintage thing. quite quirky, aziraphale has to say. he's a teensy bit scared of sitting too slack in the backseats - he doesn't want to marr the perfect leather. 

"getting antsy, love?" the man he's riding off with asks. he glances back to aziraphale, peers just over the edge of those damned sunglasses he won't take off, and grins. bright, impish, and toothy. it reminds aziraphale of gabriel. he has to convince himself it doesn't.

"don't worry, we'll be there soon. i'll make it worth your time, yeah? gonna take real good care of you." the man - _crowley,_ that's his name, aziraphale has to remember - speaks with a teasing lilt. the kind of edge that leaves aziraphale shivering for no reason whatsoever. he's had a few drinks, tipsy to a safe, warm spot that settles in his belly, which is really the only reason he feels so comfortable going off with a stranger. a trademark dark, tall, handsome stranger. heaven help him if he gets murdered tonight, hopefully the dick will be worth it.

the apartment he's led to seems pleasantly calm, minimalistic. sleek and sharp around the edges, with a fine array of potted plants to pique aziraphale's interest. how he manages to keep such fickle things alive, aziraphale will never be sure. but he doesn't bother with asking him right now. there's more important matters at hand.

as it turns out, being held down by an indistinct face and unfamiliar hands, pressed tight in a stranger's bed, can be mildly frightening. especially if you're a traumatized, middle-aged bookseller, who gets in way too over his head all too often. he tries not to be too obvious, praying his shakes only appear as ordinary pre-sex jitters to crowley. his clothes come off without asking. he wishes he could leave his sweater on, at least. gabriel always lets him keep the sweater.

"you, my dear," crowley murmurs, nipping at his neck with viperesque teeth. "are an absolute treasure. all pink and flushed for me, like a little cherub."

aziraphale gasps as his legs are dragged spread, crowley settling between them.

"in fact," crowley drawls on. "i think i ought to call you angel. suits you, a pretty name for a pretty thing."

his tongue blossoms heat in aziraphale's cunt. licking him open, lapping at the puffy folds until he's burning for it. dripping down his own thighs, slick and sticky, with his clit pulsing to a racing heartbeat. and his noises - dear lord, he should be ashamed of the noises. he can't hold himself back. it's so warm, so wet, crowley takes him apart so tenderly. he's licked into, tasted like a sacred meal. and it's everything, it's priceless, he's done for before they've even really begun.

crowley pulls back from him by the time he's panting, looking pleased. "good, angel?"

aziraphale sucks in full breaths of air between his teeth, wincing. "yes - i, er, very good, v- _very_ good. i - i suppose i'm to return the favor?"

crowley shrugs. "whatever you want. it's all up to you."

"i should, i just - it's embarrassing, a personal thing, but i'd prefer it if you didn't, erm, hold me still and... _use_ my mouth, if that's self-explanatory."

aziraphale pointedly leaves out the fact that it is definitely more than a preference, and he'd _definitely_ be reduced to a pool of wobbling tears on the floor should such a thing occur. silly details, not worth noting.

"course. didn't have that in my schedule anyways. you're too precious to be that rough with, y'know." crowley grins, unbuckling his trousers, and tugging himself free. his cock hangs heavy between his legs. aziraphale examines the reddened tip, the precum that's streaked along the sides. he shuffles onto his hands and knees, tests the weight of it against his palms, and then - _then_ \- 

"angel," crowley sighs, his head kicking back. "so soft, you've got such a sweet little mouth." 

aziraphale bristles with pride, perking up at the fair dosage of praise. he suckles at the head, flicking his tongue through the wet of crowley's slit. moaning just for good measure, small and shy in his throat, as if he were really hesitant. that's how he's been taught to do it. a whore who can play up being a virgin is better than a whore who cannot.

he wishes that line of thought wasn't so ingrained into him.

sucking crowley off is easy. it's a practiced motion, something he's as thoroughly trained in as he is his abc's, and his primary colors. he tries not to think about how it was easier keeping baby teeth in check. or how different it is to not have his mouth ache, adjusted to the size of something stuffing it full by now.

and when crowley cums, he swallows it down like a good boy. still trying not to think, seeking out touch, physical contact in the afterglow. crowley lets him nestle up against his chest, doesn't try to kick him out of bed, leaving aziraphale only to thank his good fortune. he's safe like this, he plants the statement. firm and steady in his mind. there's still a swarm of a ravaging scourge, but he tries not to think about it. tries not to think. tries _not_ to _think._

only when crowley passes out before him, and the sun fully settles, does he get his wish. peaceful in sleep, if never anytime else.


End file.
